The Constant
by ElectricFlowerChildren
Summary: "In life everything is changing, all the time, but this right here…it's never changed. When I saw you this morning, I remembered everything, immediately." Dramione one-shot. This is basically my heart on a silver platter...enjoy.


**Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, save a few. I just want this to be real too badly to excuse myself for borrowing them from J.K Rowling**

**Authors Note: First of all, don't review to tell me about spelling or grammar mistakes. I go back several times and catch them all, so I'm sorry but I really don't want to hear it. I'm not being mean, I promise. I value all of you and your opinions. **

**I cried writing this. I think this is my favorite thing that I've ever written. I hope it touches you in some way. I think your soul-mate doesn't have to be the one you end up with, and it kills me that it sometimes happens like this.**

"_Do you know when they say soul-mates? Everybody uses it in personal ads. "Soul-mate wanted". It doesn't mean too much now. But soul mates- think about it. When your soul-whatever that is anyway-something so alive when you make music or love and so mysteriously hidden most of the rest of the time, so colorful and big but without color or shape-when your soul finds another soul it can recognize even before the rest of you knows about it. The rest of you just feels sweaty and jumpy at first. And your souls get married without even meaning to-even if you can't be together for some reason in real life, your souls just go ahead and make the wedding plans. A soul's wedding must be too beautiful to even look at. It must be blinding. In must be like all the weddings in the world-gondolas with canopies of doves, champagne glasses shattering, wings of veils, drums beating, flutes and trumpets,showers of roses. And after that happens-that's it, this is it. But sometimes you have to let that person go. When you are little, people , movie and fairy tales all tell you that one day you're going to meet this person. So you keep waiting and it's a lot harder than they make it sound. Then you meet and you think, okay, now we can just get on with it but you find out that sometimes your soul partner lover has ideas about that."_

_**Hermione:**_

It was during a Ministry event that she saw it. The young woman had long hair that was sensationally curly, flipping over her shoulders and cascading down her back. She was curvy, her figure much belonging to a lady than Hermione's boy hips and small breasts, and she was raising a hand to her face, laughing in it in a way that only the truly beautiful can pull off.

Ron had been talking to her all night. He hadn't even introduced her to Hermione, and she was his wife. It made her uncomfortable in a very familiar way. It brought her back to Lavender their sixth year at Hogwarts, when she thought she'd rather die than see him with her any longer.

Now the girl with the long blonde hair was holding out her wine glass to clink against his. Ron was laughing, completely oblivious to the fact that she was standing next to Neville and Luna, barely listening to them and wishing he'd walk over to her. It was completely unlike him to behave in this way. She was almost shocked on top of all the jealousy.

"Hermione?"

She turned and noticed _Neville_ was wrapping his hand around Luna's. _Neville_ was flicking glances at _his_ girlfriend and smiling like he was comfortable with their love. It made her lonely. Married people shouldn't be lonely.

"Yes, right." She apologized. "I'm sorry, I think I'm going to go home."

She touched their shoulders affectionately and went to the coatroom. Her coat, a dark black pea coat that Ron had bought her last Christmas was in the back next to his tan one. As soon as she had slipped it on, she went to find Ron.

He was still with the girl and they were both still smiling. Her heart hammered as she walked up to them. It was almost like she was interrupting something that hadn't happened yet, but would with time. It completely unnerved her.

"Ron, I think I'm going to head home." She said as amicably as she could.

"Oh." He turned to face her for the first time since they had gotten there and frowned. "Well hold on, I'll go with you."

He left him with the girl who smiled in a mocking way at Hermione. She winced uncomfortably, and then bristled at the gesture. _She_ wasn't doing anything wrong. Ron was her husband, after all.

Ron returned, shrugging on the jacket and then took her hand. It made her feel better that he did it in front of the girl. But it wasn't much comfort as she didn't think she'd seen the last of her.

**ooo**

"You didn't tell me about her."

Ron was pulling on his pajama legs, and stumbled a bit at her voice. She had ignored him from the moment they had left the party. The sound of her voice, harsh and threatening, threw her off a bit as well. The anger had come out of nowhere, but it felt good to get it out. Let him answer to her for once.

"Excuse me?" he reached out for her but she pulled back.

"The girl, the one with the blonde hair."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He turned away from her, moving to the bed and pulling up the sheets.

"Don't be a prick, Ronald." She pulled him by his arm and made him face her. He looked startled.

"Hermione." He put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "I think you're being a bit bonkers, and quite frankly I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop it." She squirmed in his embrace. "I hate it when you try and talk me out of my feelings."

"Ok." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "So tell me your feelings, Hermione. Even though we both have to wake up for work in a couple hours, let's have a go at it about something that didn't even happen."

"So you _do_ know what I'm talking about!"

"I have a fairly good idea, yes."

"Tell me about her."

"About Kate, the new intern in the Auror department? What about her?"

And then her words were lodged in her throat. What about her, really? Had she imagined it all? It sounded so foolish all of a sudden.

"I _saw_ you two." She insisted weakly.

"Saw us what, exactly? Chatting about work? Having a laugh about the incident that happened a week ago during an expedition?"

"No." she shrank away a little bit. "I saw the way you looked at her. And…and I mean, I understand I guess. She's very attractive." She bit down on her tongue a little with the last word. Now she just sounded insecure.

"Oh, Hermione. Don't do this."

"I can't help it Ron. You didn't speak to anyone else all-night. Not even me."

"She's my colleague, Hermione. Nothing more."

"Is she going with you on the trip tomorrow? The one in New Zealand?"

"You're joking. There will be twelve of us."

"It's a whole weekend away from me. How am I supposed to know?"

"Have I _ever_ given you a reason to doubt me?"

Suddenly she felt more foolish than she had ever felt before. She let a curtain of silence fall down between them and she wished she had never brought it up. He _hadn't_ ever given her a reason to not trust him and she knew that. She knew him. She trusted him.

"I'm sorry." She apologized.

"Forget it. It's fine."

But his words were heavy and he turned his back on her, climbing under the covers.

"I'm going to get some juice." She said.

She heard him stir under the sheets as she walked across their flat to the kitchen. They had a nice place, in a well off neighborhood with an excellent view. By all counts, their five years together, three of them as a married couple, had been perfect. Anyone would die for this life that she almost just gave up in one little disagreement. Except that this wasn't their first fight and wouldn't be their last.

She knelt down to the mini fridge connected to the island and pulled out a bottle of orange juice. It was pulp-free, even though Ron loved pulp. Little things like the orange juice were compromises that Ron gave up for her, because he loved her, and it was hard to swallow the tang with how tight her throat felt.

She was convinced she had imagined the whole exchange between them at this point. She was jealous easily; something that carried over from her years at Hogwarts when she was awkward and everyone else was so beautiful. She'd just have to get over the whole exchange. If she ever saw the girl-Kate, again, she'd try and start up a conversation.

And yet, when she had rinsed the glass off in the sink and put the juice away, she couldn't bring herself to go to bed with Ron. It felt like an island, separate from her, and the distance between them was too much for her to cross in simple steps. So instead, she curled up on the couch and fell asleep.

_**Ronald:**_

He woke up in a better mood than when he had fell asleep in. The problem was, this wasn't something that he was used to. He and Hermione hadn't always gotten along great, but after the war their seventh year at Hogwarts, they had gotten together and fell in love. Apart from a year before they had gotten married, they were never separated. After two years of dating they had gotten married and moved into the flat they lived in now, and things moved along in a haze of happiness.

And then last night she had accused him of…what? Cheating? On her? It was almost comical to think about. And yet, after she had mentioned it, he thought back on all of his and Kate's encounters and wondered…was there something there?

Sure, Kate was attractive. To deny that would be a blatant lie. But to admit it to himself would be something worse: a betrayal of his love for Hermione. His devotion for her blinded him sometimes, but it didn't mean he didn't still _see._

So instead of letting their squabble sit badly between them, he did what he had seen his Dad do for his Mum over the years: he started to make Hermione breakfast.

For some reason, Hermione had slept on the couch last night, which for January was a bad idea. It was cold and they didn't like the turn on the heat unless they needed it. Hermione was very environmentally friendly. She was rolled tightly in a ball, so he brought a sweater of his over to her and laid it on the coffee table in front of her, so when she woke up she might have an extra piece of warmth.

Then he focused on making her food. Her favorite was what they both called "mushy mushy". Basically, it was eggs mixed with cream, cheese, tiny pieces of green pepper and a tiny bit of milk." The result was a soft and subtly sweet scrambled egg. They rarely made it, as Hermione was always watching her figure, but he thought that it might encourage her to forgive him. Even if he had done nothing wrong, he still wanted her to come back to him.

He heard her wake up and pull on the sweatshirt. She walked into the kitchen and saw him cooking. A smile lit on her face and she sat on a seat near the island. He cracked open two eggs into a small bowl, whipping them and then pouring in cream as he tossed it into the frying pan. As she saw him cooking, she moved around the kitchen, picking out glasses and pouring them juice. It felt so _married_, and he'd never get over the niceness of it. It was so sweet, so caring.

The eggs were finished and he split the serving between them both. She handed him a fork and they both started eating. He watched her, tiny pieces going into her mouth and her cheeks chewing. The sweatshirt brought out flecks of pink in her skin, her caramel eyes were dewey with the morning sun. She was so beautiful to him, his heart swelling like an idiot at the sight of her in underwear and his sweatshirt, eating eggs and drinking juice.

"'Mione…I'm sorry. I should have said something but I didn't think there was anything to say."

She stopped eating and looked at him. For a minute he wondered if this was the wrong thing to do, to bring it up all over again. But instead she put down her fork and smiled a little.

"Did something happen between you two?"

"No. Never."

"Swear it?"

"Yes. I love you, Hermione."

They looked at each other for awhile and then she nodded, starting to eat again.

"Eggs are good." She said and he had never loved the sound of her voice more.

**ooo**

He was leaving for New Zealand in a couple hours. He hadn't packed, nor had he showered yet. He and Hermione had spent the day yesterday together, walking around London and going in pet shops. They had been discussing getting a dog recently, but Hermione wanted a specific kind. A mix of a Labrador and something, he couldn't remember what.

They had fallen asleep together talking about their marriage, and how Neville and Luna were sure to be next.

Now he scrambled about to get it all together. His shower was scalding hot and the pressure felt too strong. He didn't feel clean enough when he got out, but when he got in the room he stopped cold.

Hermione had packed for him and was zipping up his briefcase when he walked in with a towel in his hair.

"Oh." She looked up. "You're out."

"Hermione, bless you." He said and hugged her. She pulled back and kissed him, feeling the back of his neck with her fingers.

"Everything is in there, including your suit. The black one you like with the white tie.

That would look perfect at the meeting of Aurors. She knew everything before he did, she always had. It was what he loved most about her.

"Ok." He kissed her again and then hugged her tight. "I have to go. But I love you and thank you. I'll send an owl when I get there."

She nodded and sat down on the bed. It felt wrong to be leaving her, but he felt better knowing they weren't fighting.

"Have fun." She said with a tiny smile.

_**Hermione:**_

As Ron walked out the door, she found herself restless. She washed the dishes, swept the floor, rearranged some magazines, and then sat down with a book. But as much as she loved _Sense and Sensibility_, it couldn't hold her attention that morning.

She dressed for the weather, in a long cable knit sweater, black leggings, short boots and a scarf wrapped around her neck. She pondered putting on makeup, but decided against it last minute. Instead, she pulled her hair back in a low ponytail and headed out to the Metro.

Normally she didn't enjoy Muggle transportation. Though she had been born a Muggle and frequently used Metros and buses throughout her life, when she had graduated from Hogwarts she apparated more than anything else. It was quicker and more efficient.

The Metro was slow that day, and she hurried through crowds of people to make the second one, which was quicker than the first. When she got off she walked up the stairs and into the streets of downtown London. There was a coffee shop that she frequented, and today seemed like a good day to walk around with a decaf and a bagel.

Her shoes hit the floor in loud taps and the street was nearly empty. Even though it was January, it wasn't snowing and the weather wasn't too terrible. Really people should be taking advantage of the situation, not staying inside all day.

The coffee shop, _Blake's_, was warm and the air smelled like their cinnamon coffee cake, freshly baked daily. She went up to the counter and ordered a raisin bagel and a small latte, but she wouldn't have had to. The owner knew her well enough that he could tell what she wanted based on her expressions and the way she walked inside. It was part of the charm.

The coffee was handed to her with a cardboard wrap, which she walked over to the table and slid on. She picked up the bag with her bagel and walked out the door.

As she was listening to the sound of the bells on the door clang behind her she almost walked completely by him.

"Hermione."

She stopped dead in her tracks. That _voice_, the waves of sun in each lilt of her name as he pronounced it; she'd know it anywhere. She turned and sure enough, there he was.

He was a little taller, but no more slender. His upper body was more defined; his shoulders broad and lifting up to touch his silky blond hair. Scruff covered his face, which most blond men couldn't pull off. His was slightly darker than his face though, and he pulled it off well. And his eyes…they were still just as mesmerizing, holding everything and anything inside of them. She almost passed out just looking at them for three seconds.

Her mouth opened and then, as he walked towards her with a smile she quickly turned up in a smile.

"Draco Malfoy…what are you _doing_ here?"

"I was in the neighborhood."

"You live in Scotland."

"Fine, I'm here to see you."

She blushed unwillingly. Why did she have to run into him when she looked so awful?

_Shit_.

"You're joking."

"No, I'm afraid not. I decided to finally use the address on the Christmas cards."

"I could have moved." She pointed out.

"Unlikely."

She didn't know what to saw. He was so handsome even four years later. How could she have let that slip her mind all of these years?

"Well, then, what's your next move?"

"Do you have time for me?"

"Sure." She tried to shrug nonchalantly, but her arm cracked and she ended up wincing. She waved it off and nodded. "Yeah, ok."

"Tonight? Dinner at _Rosetta's?"_

"Yes." She bleated out. _No_, she scolded herself. _You'll break before the night is over._

"See you at 9." He affirmed and walked away.

**ooo**

It was a forbidden thought that she was having, but as she paced around her flat for hours, all she could think to herself was, _I want to look pretty tonight_. Her socks were scuffing around on the floor and she felt hot and tired from walking around so much. The apartment was cleaner than it had ever been as she had nervously dusted and bleached everything in sight.

"I need to sit down." She told herself and walked over to the couch.

Just before she sat down she froze. Another silent thought formed in her mind and before she could stop it she walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out a book that hadn't been opened in years. She took it back to the couch and sat down, pulling her feet underneath herself.

She flipped through the pages until she reached _109_, the beginning of the last chapter. Three photographs bookmarked the spot. She took them out and closed the book, setting it down beside her.

She hesitated before looking down at the soft pictures in her hands. Then, taking a deep breath, she really looked. The first was of Draco, mid laugh. His hand was brought up to his face, his thumb resting on his bottom lip. His eyes weren't focused on her, the person behind the camera, but somewhere right behind her.

"Oh." She remembered. "There you are."

And then she was suddenly overwhelmed by the whole thing. Her restlessness never helped her; it always brought her misery. Here was a man she hadn't spoken to in person for two years, parting ways on amicable terms. She had spent nights staring out the window, picturing his face as clearly as she could in her mind, and none of it had done any justice. The photograph in her hand assured her of that.

She put them back in the book without looking at the rest of them. She remembered that day without it. The book was placed careful back in the shelf, as if nothing had ever happened. But something had. A decision had been made.

She had chosen to look pretty that night after all.

**ooo**

It could have been too much, but she wouldn't have cared. The dress she had chosen was the only one in her possession that drew out what little curves she had, yet making them look tight and molded from stone.

She wore purple pumps and pulled her hair back with a matching bow. Bows were a bit childish but she was fond of them all the same. It was one of her only weaknesses.

But it was what was under the dress that worried her most. Impulsively, she had pulled on her nicest bra and panties, wondering why she was doing that and knowing at the same time why.

Draco loved lace, and the pair in question was a soft pink, lacing around the legs and waist. It was he that she had in mind when she put it on, and it was his approval that she sought as she put on her makeup and ran a brush through her hair one last time.

Finally, she took a look around the room and apparated inside of the only Muggle-free restaurant in downtown London.

He noticed her immediately, which she liked. He looked up from the bar he was sitting at and pulled that smile of his in her direction. She walked over to him as gracefully as she could and they hugged briefly.

"You look beautiful." He complimented her.

"Thank you." She looked down, pleased. "I'm afraid you completely caught me off guard this morning."

"You were just as beautiful then."

She shrank under his gaze, wondering when Ron had looked at her like that. It was a bad thought, she scolded herself. Ron so loved her. She knew that.

"Shall we get a drink?" she asked and sat down next to him at the bar. He waved his hand to the bartender and ordered her favorite type of red wine, for both of them.

"You remembered." She smiled.

"You used to complain it was staining your teeth."

He lifted his glass to clink against hers. She took a sip and as the sweet mix ran around her mouth she thought that maybe she hadn't had this wine in so long. Too long. She never had chances to drink wine anymore.

"So, it's been…what, two years?"

"If you don't count the Christmas cards." He joked. "But yes, two years."

"Do I look different?" she swallowed another bit of wine and waited for his honesty.

"No." he shook his head and smiled. "You look so beautiful."

"I feel ancient." She groaned. "I'm turning twenty-three this year."

"Almost a quarter of a century old. Getting up there."

"Stop." She covered her mouth in laughter. "Don't do that to me."

Which led him to bring up the weather, her job, Ron's job, if she had children (which he knew she didn't) and finally, the weather back in Scotland. At that point, she stopped him.

"No more small talk." She begged.

"Alright." He put down his empty glass and swung to face her. "How are _you_?"

"I'm fine." She offered. "How are _you?_"

"I'm confused. I thought we agreed on no small talk?"

"So you're correct." She took the last sip of wine and faced him as well. "Tell me, Draco. How's your business going?"

"We finished building a home for this family of three last month. I know it sounds cheesy, but I think this is the best one yet. I've never been more satisfied with a look on someone's face as they saw where they got to live."

Draco had started a business using his family's fortunes, which focused on building new homes for families who were affected by the war. Some had called it a guilty conscious project for the over entitled, but Hermione knew better. It was his penance, for almost killing Dumbledore their sixth year. He wanted to do right by their old Headmaster. And he had succeeded. She found herself reading about it every so often in the paper. She had even done a story once for _her_ job, at _The Daily Prophet_, in which his business was said to be expanding to all areas of Europe in the next three years.

"That's wonderful, Draco. Really."

"Yes, well…" he looked behind her for a moment, but that was just what he did when he was nervous. She liked that she knew that about him. Most people just assumed he was uninterested. She knew better.

"You know, you really have the most impeccable timing." She noted softly.

"Always have, but what do you mean by that?"

"I always think about you when things aren't going well." She regretted it as soon as she said it.

"What's not going well?" it's almost as if he knew by the tone in his voice. It was as though he could see into her head and pull out the jealousy, the fight, the unsettled feeling in her stomach when Ron sometimes joined her for a shower in the morning.

"I should probably get going." She said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

She didn't want to go but it was late and she had already drunk a full glass of wine. More alcohol would only make things worse for her when the night was over. Besides, one night with Draco was already damaging enough. She'd be over-thinking this for weeks.

She stood and held out her hand for a goodbye shake. He took it in both of his and looked at her.

"Come with me."

"To where?" she asked and focused on the warmth of his hands.

"My room." He grinned. When she froze, pulling her hands out of his and raised her hand to her face so that he could see her ring, he smiled wide. "I'm kidding Hermione. Relax."

"Oh." She breathed.

"But, I would love for you to join me. I'm having dinner with this man and his wife who are contributing donations to our next house here in London. They are a lovely couple. I think you'd like them."

She pondered the idea for a moment, imagining how it would look to anyone that saw them.

"No, I don't think-"

"When was the last time you _didn't think_?"

The words bit at her but she knew they didn't have a malicious meaning.

"Ronald's out of town." She told him for no reason at all.

"Alright. Well, can he not let you out even for a night?"

"No, that's not what I meant…"

"Join me." He said, a statement more than a question. And she knew she'd had her answer already.

**ooo**

The couple was in their mid-fifties, and yet they were impeccably lovely. She liked them without even speaking to them.

The four of them sat down at a table in the middle of the room. It made her feel very isolated, as though she were under a microscope. Carefully she moved a little away from Draco, as if space might diffuse the heat she felt towards him.

"Draco, you son-of-a-bitch!" the man exclaimed, bringing down his fist and shaking the table. "Who is this impossibly beautiful woman?"

"I'm Hermione." She greeted, and shook both of their hands.

The woman introduced herself as Martha and her husband was Rodger Hammings.

"Alright, Draco you didn't tell me you were seeing someone in London."

"Oh, we're just friends." She blurted out.

"Friends who sleep together? No? Right, then." He nodded.

A waiter came over and took their orders. Hermione was surprisingly hungry and ordered a steak. Draco copied her, and it felt like a familiar encounter from years ago.

"Well then, how did you meet?" Martha asked with a dazzling smile.

"You tell her." Draco said.

"We went to school together." She began. "We were sworn enemies really, my being Harry Potter's best friend."

"Wait, you're Hermione _Granger_?" Rodger interrupted. "Marvelous."

"Thank you." She blushed.

"We didn't always hate each other though." Draco continued, and she thought he was about to bring _it_ up. Instead, he skipped over it completely. "We became friends someone at _The Prophet_, meeting again at a dinner party."

"When was this?" Martha asked again.

"About…three or maybe four years ago?"

"And you haven't spoken since?"

They looked at each other and then away again. Not if cards didn't count.

The couple was amazingly gifted in delving into deep conversations. As the night passed, she was discussing everything, from politics about the Ministry, to ideas about the business transaction between Draco and Rodger. And as they all ate and drank wine, something inside of her lifted. She felt her posture straighten, her spine curve outwards. She was bent over laughing, her elbows on the table as Rodger accused her of being a siren of all things.

But the food ended and it was really late now. She knew she had to go home, and despite everything, she was ready for it. She wanted to leave and run her fingers over picture frames with her and Ron encased in them. She needed to be reminded of her life before she lost it at the table.

As they all stood and went for the door, Rodger stopped her.

"You should come to the club tonight." He said.

"The club?" she asked.

"Token, in mid London. It's where Draco and I will be making the deal. He goes back tomorrow, you know." And the bastard raised an eyebrow as if to say _don't be an idiot_. He knew and she hated it.

"Well, I'm actually exhausted, so I probably shouldn't…"

"I'll take you home." Draco offered, coming out of nowhere.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous Draco, it's completely out of your way."

He waved her off and led her outside with his hands, his long fingers that she remembered so well. They waved goodbye to the couple, Draco promising to meet them after he dropped her off.

They took a taxi home, something she rarely did. Draco paid, which was something she was equally unfamiliar with. How long had it been since he had flashed the familiar fold of bills in front of her, as if she were under his protection, his care? A long time…a marriage ago.

Before she let him into her flat, she felt a stab of insecurity. She knew that if she let him inside, the apartment would be irrevocably different. What were once hers and Ron's alone would no longer be so. It would always hold a memory of Draco, and she didn't know if she could handle that. But he pushed on the door and held it open for her. She walked inside and he followed, and that was that.

He looked around while she hung up her coat and took off her shoes. She assumed he would make his departure soon after he had made a round, but instead he came into the kitchen where she was and sat down. He looked at her and she looked back. It was unnerving.

"So tell me again, Hermione. Why didn't it work?"

Her heart stopped. She had hoped this would never be brought up. This was the untouchable subject.

"Geography." She offered.

"Because no one in the history of lovers ever loved between two places."

"Not me. Not you. Also, timing."

Her and Draco had re-met when her and Ronald were going through a rough patch, just before their second year of dating. It was still fresh after the war, and she sometimes had nightmares, which ripped through the night. Ron didn't know how to help her and it caused some doubts.

"You two were broken up." He reminded her.

"Not really. We got back together really quickly, and we had been together for so long. Six years."

"Five." He pointed out. "One year was mine."

She grimaced and rubbed her face tiredly.

"Alright, well, you still came after."

"So you are with him because he was first."

"Maybe. I love him. And I love you, too. You know that. But this is only what it is because it's between everything. It isn't a separate thing, it wouldn't survive on those terms."

"What do you mean by that."

"If we had really went for it, we would have died out, Draco. You know that. We never really wore out; we just started realizing we weren't right for each other. That's all."

"You didn't want it."

"No." she stood from her seat and shook her head venomously. "Don't you dare accuse me of not wanting it, Draco. I went to you…I went to Scotland for two months. It was you who sent me home."

"I was busy Hermione. I was putting together my business and I was so damn tired, all the time. How was I supposed to put together the pieces and see what you meant to be, through all that?"

"Well if you loved me you would have figured it out. You would have said you loved me, too."

"God, Draco." She walked away, exasperated. She stood by the door and waited for him to walk over. He didn't. "You need to leave. None of this even matters anymore."

"It matters to _me_." He stood up and pointed at himself. He was almost frozen like that for a second before continuing. "I'm here, in your flat, looking at your life in pictures and blankets and magazines, seeing you with him. You aren't experiencing what I'm experiencing."

"You chose to come up here, I didn't make you. But now I'm asking you to leave."

"Don't push me away. You agreed to meet me tonight; you are just as much to blame for this as I am. So shoving me away will do nothing. Tell me, was I what you needed to make sure what you have with Ron is enough? Am I your validation?"

"No, that's not how people work Draco. I just…maybe I've never wanted this to be different. You know? In life everything is changing, all the time, but this right here…it's never changed. It's always the same and it will never lessen. You are constant to me and I don't feel less about you. When I saw you this morning, I remembered everything, immediately."

Once it was out, she couldn't bear it. He had to leave. She held open the door and waited for him to walk out. He obliged this time, not even looking back. She closed the door and sat down on the floor, willing herself not to cry.

_**Draco:**_

From the moment that he had seen her in the coffee shop, he knew that it would never be any less painful for him. When she had walked out the door three years ago…when she had gone back to London and married Weasley, he had thought he'd never move past it.

But he did. He went through with his business, even reading the article she wrote about him, praising his work. He made money, good money, and passed it along.

His life was modest but fair; he got exactly what he deserved. And eventually, he met someone. A year ago to be exact. Her name was Vera, and she was beautiful. She was Asian, long silky black hair and big brown eyes. She was slim but almost as tall as he was. She was smart, driven, funny and kind. He loved her, but he wasn't in love with her. And when he wondered why, all he could see where the damn Christmas cards that Hermione sent to him once a year, without fail. In it was a check for a donation to his company and three words on the inside. _I miss you_.

He missed her too. Those three words had been their only communication for the past two years after the tragic run-in at _The Daily Prophet_, when he was giving a speech at an event. He had accused her of being a coward and for the past two years there was no doorway between them. No communication, no new memories.

He knew that until he could create this door and walk straight into it, there would be no falling in love for him. He'd always be falling for Hermione, endlessly tripping into darkness until the end of time.

He had to stop it. He had to grab on.

But he had seen her, standing in that shop and she was so beautiful. He had forgotten all the cruel images he had used from childhood to forget her and saw instead only a woman who was sure of herself. He wished that he could have been the one to give that to her.

And now they had parted again but he was no better for it. The whole way to Token he wished he could just turn around, but it wasn't possible. She wouldn't welcome him inside.

The club was hot and heavy, air pressing against him as soon as he walked in. Martha and Rodger were waiting for him, but upon seeing his face Martha left and Draco sank into his seat.

"Long ride?" Rodger asked.

"Long life."

"You young people. You always amaze me."

Draco turned to look at Rodger, who was fiddling with his drink absentmindedly. He didn't appear to be annoyed, so Draco prodded.

"Me?"

"Yes, you. She's stunning, Draco. And she's funny, and so…so unforgivably honest. She's perfect for you. And, well, she's _married_."

"I know that." He scowled.

"No." Rodger interrupted, setting his drink down. "Have you ever been married? Because I can tell you this much…it isn't about the vows and the promises, as much as it is about the _time_. You can't undo those years that she had with her husband. The moment you even begin to try it'll all be gone. And if you lose her, that's a shame."

'I don't follow."

"Keep it as it is. There's no use even trying to change it."

**ooo**

The deal moved smoothly. The Hammings contributed a million to the new housing project, and Draco felt sure this year would be even better than the last.

Which didn't explain how carelessly he was moving back to Hermione's place, at four in the morning. She probably wasn't even awake at this point, but if he was leaving in three hours he at least had to _try_.

The taxi pulled in right in front of her flat's entryway. He pressed on the buzzer over and over until her sleepy voice came out of the speaker box.

"Who is this?"

"Me. Let me in. I'm so sorry."

She didn't answer, but two minutes later, a loud noise came out, allowing him to pull the doors open and go inside.

The elevator was too slow. He ran up the stairs, adrenaline pumping through his veins and causing him to move faster than he ever had before.

She opened the door before he had even knocked, and without even thinking about it he picked her up and kissed her, hands holding her to him, feet carrying them inside.

He had expected her to be hesitant, or even to resist, but her lips responded eagerly. They moved like a symphony, starting out small and crashing into cymbals and trumpets, their forms falling on her couch with tiny sounds.

"Draco." She whispered over and over into his ear. "Draco."

And then, she stopped him.

"What?" he looked down at her, and she looked back up again sadly.

"I can't go further. I just…I know it makes no sense but I won't be able to live with myself."

"But…surely you can't…"

"This can't go any further." She pressed and he understood.

But even as he sat up, even as he pulled her into his embrace and felt her fall asleep on top of him, he knew that he still had time. For them, there would always be more time.

**ooo**

He was leaving and she was staying. It was as simple as that, and yet how could anything be more difficult?

They were falling asleep together on the couch, but when she was in that place between sleep in awake, the sleep paralysis where you'll say or do anything, she felt words bubble in her chest and spill out.

"Do you know, I've never told Ron about us. Even when I think I should confess something."

"When is the right time to confess something, Granger?"

She hadn't expected him to be awake. Knowing that he was, that they had at least two more hours left together, comforted her. It didn't have to end yet.

"When I'm drunk…when I'm happy or sad, or when we've gotten into a fight. This just doesn't slip out."

"Why? Could he be angry?"

"I gave you up. Why should he be?" her breathing was even on his chest.

"Do you want to know about my girlfriend?" he asked.

"No. We don't have much time left. This is our time."

"Come here." He pulled her tighter and he could smell the cedar coming off her skin. The interrupted sex.

They fell asleep.

_**Hermione:**_

Then it was morning and he had to leave. She gave him a toothbrush and they hurried through an awkward morning ritual together.

It takes time to become comfortable enough to brush your teeth in front of someone, she realizes. How extraordinary.

She helps him out of the building and they are just facing each other. They are lost, both of them. Neither one of them can leave but staying would be impossible. That wasn't what they were made for.

"Should I get you a taxi?" she asked.

His face looked so old in the morning light. It was as if overnight he had aged a thousand years, miraculously still alive at 1023 years old. But he was still handsome and she looked down when her final confession slipped out.

"If only I could be tired of you." She whispered.

They looked at each other, but all she saw was an alternative life. One where she might have children with hair the color of silk and eyes as shallow as a pond, carrying the depth of an ocean older than the beings who existed on the land beside it.

"I think I'll walk." He said finally. "I think…I think that's what I'll do."

"No big ending?" she teased, but it was a weak tease.

"No." he said.

She took one last look at him and took a deep breath.

"See you." And she kissed him on the cheek.

As she was turning away he held her back and kissed her. Stars exploded inside of her, erupting out of her eyes and mouth, her fingers and ribcage. White spots danced behind her eyelids, as if she were dying. And she was.

She could never do more than this, and she would never stop wanting to. He would go back to Scotland, and do great things. He'd help so many people in his life, but never her. They wouldn't be allowed to save each other.

She pulled away and fell into him. His arms wrapped around her and held her tight. She breathed in his scent, committing it forever in her memory. This was it.

She let go at the same time he did.

He walked away.

**ooo**

She wanted to run after him. She wanted to scream for _him_ to run back to her. Neither happened. Instead she sat on the windowpane in her flat, smoking a cigarette and holding herself together. She counted how long it was until he was back in Scotland and then stubbed out the cigarette. She lit another and waited for Ron to get home.

It crossed her mind that before yesterday she would have spent all of this time wondering if Ron was with Kate. She would have obsessed over if he were cheating on her, sleeping with the girl with long blonde hair.

And now she was remembering this one time that Draco and her had woken up early, one morning when she was in Scotland. They hadn't said a word, but looked at each other across the sheets and waves of cotton and blankets. He had placed his hand on her cheek and held it there for hours, not explaining why or releasing it.

She had thought that maybe that was his way of telling her that he cared. She had thought it was him telling her that he loved her for the first time. A week later she had gone home, after an argument between them that had fixed itself and then finished them.

Ron had opened his arms to her. He had taken her back; despite the year apart in which she had never mentioned to him she was semi with, but not really with, Draco Malfoy. He never knew. He never would.

And they had gotten married three months later.

It was a mistake, but you can't fix these kinds of mistakes. You had to stick through them. She had made him a promise and even now, even with Draco's retreating form burned into her sight, she believed in the beauty and validity of vows. She wouldn't break it. Not ever.

A door opened, and for a second she thought…_he's come back_.

But a red mop of hair came in instead.

"You." He smiled.

She hastily wiped away a tear that was spilling over onto her arm.

"You."

"You're crying." He accused her.

"No." she stood up and put out the cigarette.

They met in the middle of the room, pulling each other into a hug.

"I missed you." He told her, speaking into her hair. "I came home early."

"I'm glad." She whispered and tried to mean it.

Ron moved away from her and started to unpack. Around him, the walls started to fall apart and crash into the ground. Bookshelves toppled over, books flying around her, pages tearing and the photographs falling out.

The photographs.

She shook her head and moved to the bookshelf in the other room. Silently, she removed the photographs from her secret book and held them in her hands. The first was the same as it had been the day before.

The second was of her, lying on his bed wearing her reading glasses. She was looking at him directly as he took the picture, a book, _the_ book lying in front of her. She was smiling her special smile, the one she can only remember giving to him.

The last picture was of him again, sleeping. She had felt weird taking the picture, but lovers can do those sorts of things. She had wanted him motionless in her hands forever. The picture was an impulse but it was one of the only three she had kept.

Now she walked over to their window. She opened it and knelt in front of the cool breeze.

She closed her eyes, picturing hair as soft as the skin behind ones ear. She imagined his fingers, wrapped around hers and she threw the pictures into the air.

A moment later she shut the window entirely.

**A/N: I'd appreciate reviews, I always love hearing from all of you. Thank you for reading.**


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